#his flute broke :(

[humanfox030]

Silly storyteller shenanigans

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[aquaticmercy]

Altar Ghosts

Summary : While on a mission with Bucky Barnes, you’re forced to confront your ex-fiancé, who left you at the altar. Bucky helps you realize you deserve far better than the man who broke your heart.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Love Confessions!!! Fluff. Hurt/comfort. Verbal abuse and emotional manipulation (by the reader’s ex-fiancé), mentions of alcohol, mentions of food, past trauma, cursing, sexual references.

Requested by : @switchbladedreamz

Word count : 4.2k

Note : This was really fun to write! The reader’s ex-fiancé is called Ethan because I couldn't think of a better name. Bucky is already a congressman in this (as suggested in the Thundebolts* trailer). Matt Murdock gets a mention because why not. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

The Gala was loud and pretentious, like most of them tend to be. The soft glow of crystal chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom, people around you swirled in and out of conversations with champagne flutes in hand. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and overpriced alcohol, but underneath the glamour, there was a tangible sense of danger that you knew all too well. This ballroom was a place where secrets exchanged hands as easily as drinks.

You were tasked with swiping a hard drive from one of Kingpin’s enforcers— codename Red. It contained details of a black-market arms deal that could arm every crime syndicate in New York twice over.

Matt Murdock had approached you with this job, and since you owed him, you couldn’t exactly say no. You’d been briefed, and it seemed straightforward. Red should be easy to spot: fiery red hair and a wiry red mask. 

If you were going to go to a gala, you might as well bring someone with you, right? Bucky Barnes was the obvious partner for this mission, being the stealthy ex-assassin that he is. His past never truly left him, and as a newly appointed congressman, he was able to slip between a diplomatic politician and confrontative spy with ease.

With a single phone call, he’d secured your invitations to the gala, but as always, Bucky’s presence was more than just political. He was a close friend of yours, as close as friends ever got in this business. You bonded over many things that have happened in the past, and you’ve actually told him many secrets, personal or professional, that you were unable to utter around anyone else.

And if you were being honest, Bucky cleaned up really well. His suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, the dark fabric accentuating his sharp jawline and bringing out the striking blue in his eyes. As you moved together through the crowd, you felt his presence at your side like a comfortable, familiar weight.

"Don’t you scrub up nice, Barnes," you teased as you adjusted your gown, glancing up at him with a smirk.

He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly so only you could hear him. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, but a warm flush crept up your neck. “Focus, Congressman,” you replied with a hint of seriousness, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As you passed by a group, Bucky leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “How am I supposed to focus when you’re dressed like that?” His voice was low and teasing, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“You flirt like this on every mission, or am I special?” you shot back playfully, giving him a sidelong glance.

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Depends,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Do you want to be special?”

It was supposed to be the light, usual banter you two always shared, but there was something in the way he said it that made your stomach flutter. You caught his gaze, and for a brief moment, the gala, the mission, the crowd—it all seemed to fade into the background.

Before you could respond, you reached a quieter corner of the room, and he gently tugged you closer by the waist, pretending to blend in with the other couples dancing nearby. His touch was firm yet careful, and you found yourself stepping closer, your heart pounding a little faster.

“Is this okay?” he asked, ever the gentleman, of his grip on you.

“Of course,” you murmured, the air between you charged with something more than just the job you were asked to do.

“There’s our guy,” you pointed with your eyes, to the tall man wearing a red mask, with a messenger bag and unnaturally dyed red hair.

There was something familiar about him. Something you couldn’t get past, but you just brushed it off. 

You and Bucky danced carefully as you navigated the crowd, keeping up appearances. While the gala’s guests indulged in champagne, Red stood there, alone, like a sentinel guarding his secrets.

Bucky glanced toward Red, sizing him up. “So, what’s the plan? Subtle or do we make a scene?”

“Subtle,” you confirmed. “If we tip him off, we lose our only chance to swipe the drive clean. You’ll handle the distraction. I’ll grab the drive.”

Bucky adjusted his cufflinks and winked. “Let’s hope you’re as good as you say you are.”

You shot him a playful glare before he slipped into the crowd, your eyes fixed on Red. In moments like these, your instincts kicked in. The mission was clear, and any hint of nerves you might have felt melted away.

You approached Red cautiously, hiding your face from him. You didn’t need to engage him—only slip your hand into his bag when he wasn't looking.

As if right on cue, Bucky bumped into a waiter just enough to send champagne crashing to the floor, apologising profusely. It was a small diversion, but it was all you needed. Red’s head snapped toward the noise, giving you the window you needed. In a fluid, silent movement, you reached for the hard drive, snatching it without a sound.

There was something still so familiar about him that you couldn’t place.

By the time you and Bucky reached the bar, the hard drive was already nestled safely in your purse.

"That was smooth, even for you." Bucky commented, pretending to be interested in the drink in his hand. He leaned casually against the counter. His eyes sparkled with that mischievous spark that always seemed to make your heart race a little faster.

You gave him a playful smile and shrugged. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

“I’m starting to see that.” His voice full of that teasing, flirtatious tone he’d been using all night. He leaned in a little, his shoulder brushing against yours. “You’re full of surprises.”

“You’re just easily impressed, Barnes.”

“Trust me,” he said, his eyes gleaming with a teasing glint. “I’ve seen plenty.”

You felt dizzy, but it had nothing to do with the champagne in your hand that you didn't even intend to drink. You shook your head, unable to stop the grin forming at your lips. “You know,” you started, moving just a little bit closer to him, “I’m starting to think you like working with me.”

Bucky had been flirting with you all night—more boldly than usual. And, God help you, you were loving it. 

Though you weren’t sure it meant anything to him, it was time you flirted back.

Bucky laughed, playfully dancing around the question, leaving it open ended. He leaned casually against the bar, his voice low and smooth as he shot you a sidelong glance.

Bucky chuckled, his eyes flicking over your face, lingering just long enough to make your cheeks burn. “So what now, doll?” he murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue so effortlessly that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Mission is over. We have time to kill.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at the sound of doll coming from his lips. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

The air between you felt electric. The crowd around you blurred into the background as Bucky’s gaze bravely held yours. He moved just a little closer, his shoulder pressing gently against yours, his lips hovering near your ear.

“And what might that be?” he murmured, his voice dripping with that scruffy tone that had been driving you crazy all night.

You opened your mouth to respond, your heart hammering in your chest, but the moment was cut short when you heard someone call your name.

You turned sharply, searching for the source. Bucky straightened, once again alert, scanning the room alongside you.

It was Red—the man with the red hair, now striding toward you with purpose. He called your name again, louder this time. Something about the way he said your name sent a chill down your spine. 

How does he know me? Are we compromised? Thoughts ran through your mind like a warning bell. You glanced at Bucky, and the concern on his face mirrored your own.

Red reached you, stopping a few feet away. Slowly, he raised his hands to his mask and pulled it away to reveal a face you hadn’t seen in years, and you weren’t pleased at this reunion. It was the face of the man who had shattered your world when he left you at the altar.

Ethan.

Your breath almost choked you. The years had changed him; his once softer features were now more brutal. Sharper. His once natural hair was now dyed a shocking red. He had bulked up, more defined than you remembered him being. So many parts of him were unrecognisable, but there was no mistaking those eyes. Those were the same eyes that once upon a time had looked at you with so much love and promise. The idea that you’d been close enough to him to swipe the drive made you feel sick.

"Surprised to see me?" Ethan said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His gaze flicked over to Bucky, who was standing impossibly still. If his stare could kill, Ethan would already be dead.

"You look good," Ethan continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Better than the last time I saw you."

"I didn't know you still ran in these circles.” You swallowed hard, trying to not show weakness. “What brings you here tonight, Ethan?" you finally asked, your voice colder than you'd intended.

Bucky winced. He recognized the name. You’ve told him about your failed wedding, and he had no sympathy for the man who had broken your heart.

A slow smirk spread across his face. "Work. Same as you, I imagine.’" 

You let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding, a strange relief rolling over you. At least he didn't know that you had stolen the drive from him. At least he didn't suspect a thing.

He gestured toward Bucky. "And you’ve upgraded. Congressman Barnes, right?"

Bucky stepped forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, his voice low and dangerous. "We’re not here to chat."

Ethan's smirk widened. "I’m sure you’re not." His gaze shifted between you and Bucky, and dark mischief flickered in his eyes. "But I have to ask— does he know? Does the Congressman know just how much you loved being used?"

You clenched your fists, but before you could respond, Bucky took another step forward, his face a mask of controlled anger. "Watch it," he growled.

Ethan’s grin didn’t falter. In fact, it grew. "What’s wrong, Barnes?" He chuckled darkly, leaning in as if to share a secret. "are you just using her too?"

Before Bucky could react, you placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Bucky," you warned softly. You couldn’t afford to cause a scene now, not here, not with this many eyes on both of you. "He’s not worth it."

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his blue eyes locked onto Ethan’s. You heard the soft whir of his vibranium arm as his hands tightened into a fist. For a moment, you weren’t sure if he was going to listen. To your relief, he exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, stepping back slightly.

You turned to Ethan, forcing your voice to remain calm, even though your blood was boiling. "We’re just colleagues, Ethan."

“Of course,” Ethan laughed, shaking his head, though you could tell he didn’t quite believe you. "I should’ve known. She always preferred confident men. I don’t think she likes her men broken." he said with a venomous sneer, his eyes gleaming with malice. The insult had clearly hit its mark. You saw a flash of pain flicker across Bucky’s face before he masked it with a blank stare.

The words stung more than he’d like to admit.

Insulting you was one thing. You expected it from him. But Bucky? He had crossed a line. You stepped closer to him, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know who you’re working for, Ethan." The subtle threat in your tone was unmistakable, “And it won't end well.” 

For the first time, you saw his shit-eating grin drop.

His face tensed, just for a moment. Knowing that you had rattled him, that your words had struck a nerve? It was enough to give you a small sense of satisfaction.

“Let’s get out of here,” you finally told Bucky while Ethan stayed frozen, unable to find a way to respond.

You turned on your heel and walked away. Bucky was at your side in an instant, his hand on your arm, his voice low and full of concern. “You okay?”

You nodded, but the truth was, you weren’t sure. Ethan’s attendance had thrown you off balance, bringing up emotions you thought you had buried six feet underground. 

As you walked out the grand doors, your mind drifted to Bucky—his protectiveness, his flirtation. It was all too confusing for you. Was he just doing his job, or was there something more? You didn’t know, and right now, you doubt you have the energy to figure all of this out.

—

The drive back to the safe house was quiet, the tension in the car thick enough to strangle you. Bucky didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, but you could feel his concern as he focused on the road in front of him. It wasn’t until you got to the small cottage on the edge of the city, that you even felt safe from prying eyes and ears. This cottage was a safehouse that was used for SHIELD agents, back in the day. After Hydra and SHIELD were taken down, Fury had given The Avengers and their associates full access to all of the remaining uncompromised safehouses across the country. 

When you got inside, you finally let your guard down. 

You barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, your hands shaking as you tried to control the tears threatening to spill over.

“Talk to me,” Bucky said softly, sitting beside you. He was close, but you wished he was closer. His demeanour was gentle, patient. It’s as if he could see the storm raging inside you. It’s like he was knocking on the door to your soul and was simply waiting for you to let him in.

For a long moment, you just sat there. You stared at your trembling hands, unsure where to start. The weight of the past, the present, and Ethan all dragged down on you like an anchor to a ship.

“He left me,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible, as though saying it aloud would make it worse. You had been strong enough to put on a face at the gala, but here? You felt small. Pathetic.

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. 

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He left me at the altar. No explanation. Nothing. I never saw him again after that. Until today.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but you could feel the shift in his body language. There was a simmering anger that only seemed to appear when something—or someone—hurt the people he cared about. 

He had heard you talk about Ethan before. You had your days, where you thought you should call him— not to get back together, but to get some kind of closure. Bucky had always told you not to, that it would just do more harm than good. And that interaction just proved him right.

“I thought I was over it,” you confessed, your voice cracking as you wiped the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “But seeing him… it just— hurt me.” Your voice broke, and you shook your head.

“He’s an asshole,” Bucky said after a beat, his voice low and sure. You knew some of Ethan’s comments hurt him, too, more than he would ever care to admit.

“I just— I thought he loved me, you know?” You brushed away more tears. “I thought I was enough.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, a rare flicker of something secretive passing over his eyes. He leaned forward, catching your gaze with a kind of intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You are more than enough,” he said quietly, his voice steady but fierce. “People like him … they don’t know what they have until they lose it. And he lost the best thing he could ever possibly have.”

You blinked, stunned by the sincerity of his words. Sure, he had flirted with you all night, but there was something serious in his tone that you’ve never noticed before. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, trying to process the gravity of what he was saying.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your heart fluttering in your chest, but this time not our of hurt.

But he didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t back down. “You deserve better than him,” he continued softly. “You deserve someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who would never be stupid enough let you go.”

The words lingered between you, and you suddenly realised just how close he was sitting, how the air around you seemed to buzz with something new, something you hadn’t fully acknowledged, not really.

Bucky had always been there for you, from the day you were first paired up for a mission together. He was a comforting presence in your life, but this… this was different. The way he was looking at you now, the way his voice had wrapped around those words—it was as if he were trying to tell you something more. Something he was too scared to tell.

For the first time, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, Bucky Barnes was offering you more than just a friendship.

—

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Bucky’s words had echoed through your mind like a whirlwind of thoughts you weren’t sure how to handle.

You tossed and turned. You were no longer trying to shake off the lingering pain from seeing Ethan anymore. Instead, it was Bucky who filled your thoughts now. The way he had comforted you, the way he had looked at you like you were worth more than you had ever given yourself credit for. 

You couldn’t stop replaying his words in your mind. You deserve better. Someone who’d never let you go. 

He always knew what to say. He always knew exactly what you needed to hear, even if you hadn’t realised it yourself.

The feelings you had for Bucky—they had been there for a while, hadn’t they? Subtle at first, easily dismissed as friendship, as a harmless crush. But now, after everything you’ve been through, you could not deny your feelings any longer.

Bucky meant more to you than you had ever let yourself admit.

This realisation was both exhilarating and terrifying.  But what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if you were just projecting your own emotions? What if you’re reading too much into his words?

No, you thought, shaking your head. You couldn’t keep running from this. You needed to talk to him. You needed to know. You needed him to know.

—

The next morning, you woke up to find Bucky sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house, eating the last bit of his pancakes. He looked up when you entered the room, his eyes softening.

“Hey,” he said quietly, giving you a small smile. He slid across a second plate of pancakes with maple syrup that he had made for you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you replied honestly, sitting opposite of him. “Thanks to you.”

He gave a small shrug, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did more than you realise,” you said softly, feeling your heart start to race in your chest. 

You started eating breakfast, sighing at how tasty it is. This was just a ritual. You enjoyed sharing safe houses with Bucky. Though you loved that he always made you breakfast, you loved his company more. You wondered how long he had been awake, waiting for you. 

You read at the clock as you stuffed the last bit of pancake in your mouth. “Murdock will be here in two hours.” you glanced at the hard drive that sat on a kitchen counter. I hope that’s worth it, Matt, you thought to yourself.

After a moment of silence, you called, “Buck?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, your courage. “Yesterday, when you said I deserved better… Did you mean it?”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes, something he rarely let anyone see. “Of course,” he said quietly. 

Your heart twisted and you took a deep breath. Your voice trembled slightly, fully aware of the information you’re about to disclose to him. “And what if… what if I already found someone l think I deserve?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. There was a bit of fear, of nervousness behind those sky blue eyes. His hand tightened around his coffee mug. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I think…” you said, your voice barely audible, “I think I’m in love with you. I’ve been for a while now.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a split second, you thought you had made a mistake. Maybe you had misread everything? 

Calming your spiralling thoughts, Bucky gently placed his hand on top of yours.

“I’m in love with you too,” he admitted quietly, “For much longer than I care to admit.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you stood up from your chair and moved around the table, stopping in front of him. Bucky stood as well, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none.

You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hands. Without another word, you leaned in and kissed him. 

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, his lips were softer that you had imagined. It was slow and gentle, brimming with pent up emotions that had been building for far too long.

When you finally pulled away you felt breathless. Bucky rested his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close.

“You deserve more than that prick has ever given you,” he whispered, his voice bitter at the mention of the man he had met last night. “And I want to be the person to give you everything you deserve.”

Your heart thrummed at his words. For the first time in what felt like forever, the ache in your chest—the pain from your past—was finally beginning to fade.

“I know.” You stayed there for a long moment, your forehead pressed against his. The world outside the cottage felt so far away, all the hurt and confusion replaced by this new, fragile hope blooming between you.

“I’ve waited a long time to kiss you,” Bucky murmured in amazement. His voice barely above a whisper. His fingers were still tracing light patterns along your jaw. “I didn’t think I ever would.”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. 

You leaned in again, capturing his lips in another gentle kiss. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. Your lips moved in tandem with each other, hands running up and down his body. His lips tasted of the sweet vanilla scent he always smelled of. You felt the edges of his fingers play with the hem of your shirt.

Just as you began to drown in the moment, the door to the cottage creaked open. A familiar voice filled the room. "I hope I’m not interrupting,” Matt Murdock said dryly from the doorway, “but boy am I glad I can’t see.”

You froze, Bucky’s lips still hovering just inches from yours. A small nervous laugh escaped your throat. 

Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as if to hide from the embarrassment. “Perfect timing, Murdock,” he muttered, his voice muffled against skin. In your defence, he was way early.

“You didn’t lock the door.” Matt chuckled as he stepped into the cottage, “Very careless for two superheroes with very sensitive information.”

Bucky sighed, not seeing a flaw in his logic, but when he lifted his head, there was a playful gleam in his eyes. “Yeah, well, you could’ve knocked.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh again. The way Bucky’s arm stayed wrapped protectively around you, even with Matt there, made your heart flutter.

Matt grinned, as if sensing the shift between the two of you, one that he hadn’t noticed in previous encounters. “I can tell you’re both smiling like idiots right now.”

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, grabbing the drive and tossing it in towards the lawyer. He caught it in mid air and tucked it into his suit pocket.

“Well,” Matt said, “I’ll just leave you two lovebirds to it. Next time, maybe let me know when you’re, uh, busy?”

You laughed, cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Will do."

As Matt exited the cottage, leaving you alone again with Bucky, the two of you shared a look, bursting into laughter. Bucky leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and whispered, “Should I lock the door?”

“Good idea,” you teased, watching him quickly turn the keys and the deadlock, before picking you up, throwing you over your shoulder and running into one of the bedrooms like an excited teenage boy.

The world outside could wait. Right now, everything you needed— everything you deserved— was right here.

-end

[uniquexusposts]

The Dutch Grand Prix - M. Verstappen (1)

Summary: Y/n visits the Dutch Grand Prix and meets Max.

The days leading up to the Dutch Grand Prix were a whirlwind of emotions for Y/n. She had packed her suitcase with a heavy heart, her hands moving on autopilot as she threw in the clothes she’d meticulously planned to wear when she and Julien were still together; the matching outfits were left at home. A trip to Zandvoort, once a dream come true, now felt like stepping into a landmine of emotions. They had broken up weeks ago—no slamming doors or screaming matches, just the quiet puzzle of something that had once been whole.

It was Julien’s mother who called first. Y/n could still hear her soft, insistent voice, asking—no, argue—for her to join them. “You’re still part of the family,” she had said, her words clinging to the hope that somehow, this trip could stitch the ugly edges of the past back together. And maybe it was that very last hope that had Y/n and Julien would get back together. 

The day of the race arrived like an overcast morning, the sun hidden behind layers of unresolved feelings. Zandvoort was a sea of orange, flags bearing Max Verstappen’s name flapping in the wind. Julien’s family greeted her with open arms, their smiles warm yet tinged with an unspoken awkwardness. Julien himself was polite, distant, like a ghost of the boy she used to know. His blue eyes, once so full of life when they looked at her, now avoided her gaze, settling instead on the horizon where the roar of engines grew louder by the minute.

The VIP section was a world apart from the chaos of the general stands. Champagne flutes clinked, the bubbles fizzing like the electric energy in the air. They were surrounded by celebrities, influencers, and sponsors—people who lived and breathed the world of Formula 1. Y/n tried to focus on the race, but her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the awkward silences and forced smiles that had filled the morning. Over the weeks, she realised she never fitted the family. Julien’s family was all about presenting the best of themselves and always thinking ahead of the possible critics they could receive. Julien had never been like that. Y/n never looked at it that way. 

Y/n and Julien’s family were invited to visit Red Bull Racing’s garage before the race. While Julien’s family were walking ahead to show the best versions of themselves and try to find a way to connect with the team, Julien and Y/n were walking in a distance next to each other. They both were observing everything, they talked and fantasised about this moment before they broke up. It was quiet between them, but they quietly observed everything. The way the team worked very structured, was brilliant to Y/n. Everybody knew what to do, with just one look everything became meaningful to the crew. 

And even Max Verstappen himself appeared. He was - obviously - the golden boy of the Netherlands and of many other F1 fans. During his home race, his name was on everyone’s lips. But here, in the intimate bubble of his garage, he was just Max, a team player of the team, almost like a coworker - which he was, technically. He introduced himself to Julien’s family and Y/n. His smile was confident, Y/n observed, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; he had the race to think about, but there was a kindness there, a warmth that Y/n hadn’t expected from the star player. After all, it was a business man who was very good at his job, really well media trained. Perhaps that was why he was likeable by the sponsors and investors, aka the rich. 

Julien stiffened beside her, his jaw tightening as Max’s attention lingered on her just a beat too long. It was nothing, really—just polite conversation, a fleeting connection over a shared love for the sport. But Julien saw something more, or maybe he was just seeing what he feared most: that Y/n was moving on, even if she wasn’t entirely ready to admit it to herself.

“Are you enjoying this weekend?” Max asked and looked at Y/n, giving her the opportunity to speak instead of the people around her. 

He was charming in that effortless way that came from years of being in the spotlight. Y/n warmly smiled, “it’s amazing. It’s really different from TV, there you can really get the overview of everything. But being here in real time… It’s better than I thought it would be. And those Dutch fans…” Her lips parted and her eyes widened, showing an impressed impression. 

Max laughed and nodded as an agreement. “Nothing tops the Dutch.”

“It’s so intense, isn't it? Everyone is so loved and welcome here at the track and just in The Netherlands in general.” 

“Not always, but they do their best,” Max replied. 

“Geloof me, ik weet er alles van,” Y/n replied and gave him a typical Dutch nod. (Trust me, I know all about it)

His eyebrows raised. “Die zag ik niet aankomen.” They hold each other's gaze for a moment; this was their moment, their connection. There was something about her that made him long for more, more of her story. (I did not see that coming) 

But Julien’s jealousy simmered beneath the surface, a dark cloud threatening to overshadow the day. He watched as Max’s laughed with Y/n. They actually laughed at the same time, moving towards each other, and brushing their arms against each other’s arms. It was a casual, short touch, but one that sent a surge of possessiveness through him. He couldn’t stand it, the idea that Y/n, his Y/n, could be slipping through his fingers, right in front of his eyes. And the worse thing: Y/n was speaking in her native tongue, he wasn’t able to follow their conversation anymore. 

After a few minutes, the family and Y/n were politely asked to leave the garage. Y/n was almost glad to do so because she felt the weight of Julien’s gaze on her. And let’s not forget the jealousy she received from her ex-in-law’s because she could speak the same language as Max, they could not. And no one knew about what they were talking about. They quickly took a photo for the memories and left.  

As they walked back to the VIP area, Julien couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Y/n, what are you doing? With him?” His words tumbled out, rough and unfiltered.

She blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about? We were just talking.”

But Julien wasn’t having it. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration gnawing at him. “You can’t seriously be interested in him. You just… you can’t.”

And there it was—the unspoken truth between them. Julien wasn’t ready to let her go, not yet, not when he saw her smile like that, the same way she used to smile at him.

Y/n took a deep breath, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. “Julien, we’re not together anymore. You made that choice. I’m just trying to make the best of this trip. You don’t get to decide who I talk to.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. The truth of it was painful, but undeniable. Julien had ended things, thinking it was the right thing to do, but now, seeing her with someone else—even if it was just a fleeting moment—was unbearable.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t expect it to be so hard.”

Y/n softened, her anger dissipating as she looked at him. This wasn’t easy for either of them. But she couldn’t let his jealousy ruin what little peace she had found.

“It’s hard for me too,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But we both have to move on.”

Julien nodded, but the sadness in his eyes lingered. They stood there for a moment, in the centre of the chaos before the start of the race, as they faced the reality of what their relationship had become—two people trying to find their way apart, even as they were drawn together by the echoes of what once was. As she looked at him, she knew one thing for certain: she was finally ready to start healing. And that, in itself, was a victory; the first victory for today. 

Part 2

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313

[christianbalesblueadidas]

I have a prompt 🙋‍♀️👀 (a rlly long one). reader thinking noticing how Bruce always disappears/makes an excuse to leave at night (like on dates, events, or maybe while getting freaky (👀) he suddenly just gets up and goes like “oh sorry smth came up”) and he can never give a convincing enough excuse so she starts getting distant and cold coz she thinks he’s not rlly serious in the relationship and Bruce notices this and feels rlly bad but the reader only finds out why after she had to get rescued by him……. So yeah there’s my prompt yay!!!

I'm Sorry, Sweetheart

bruce wayne x f!reader

your boyfriend seems to hate being around you. it's time to give him a taste of his own medicine.

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI (18+), some smut in the middle, kidnapping, graphic language

word count: 3.4k

a/n: thank you for the request! i hope i did your idea justice.

Bruce Wayne is singlehandedly the most infuriating man you’ve ever dated.

Every week, you know him a bit more. Little by little, you get to know him — soul, mind, and body — more and more every time you meet. And it’s not the cute “let’s take this slow” type of getting to know each other. It’s the irritating kind, where you get to know more about him and his world and he suddenly takes it away from your hands.

Your first date goes smoothly enough, setting an expectation he can never reach since. Despite it being the bare minimum, you are happy he is there the entire time, physically and mentally. He never once looked at his cellular phone or his watch or a random clock in the room. It is just you and him and the company you share together.

On the second date, he starts off completely interested and later into the night, he inexplicably turns distracted — and almost anxious. He picks up his phone and says he has a call to make, he disappears into the corner of the room, then comes back to your table and tells you he has somewhere to go. Wayne Enterprises business. Ignoring your barely hidden disappointment and offense, you nod with a smile and tell him, “It’s alright, Bruce.”

Of course, he notices your hurt expression when he leaves. Even if you manage to hide your emotions well, Bruce is trained to notice it. To make up for that mistake, he invites you to a fundraising party. Frankly, it’s out of your league, but you can never pass up an opportunity to be with Bruce and to finally experience a fancy party.

Contrary to your expectations, it’s the most boring party you’ve ever been in, full of snooty millionaires and social climbers. You don’t know how Bruce endures this. You’ve read about and saw the models he brings — multiple at a time too — to his parties and you’re guessing that’s how. You push away the thought, not sure whether to be insecure that you can’t measure up to his models and actresses or whether to be proud that he chose you and only you to be his date tonight.

You stand in the far corner of the large ballroom at the top of his penthouse, subtly avoiding Bruce’s “friends” and thinking about him. And speaking of the devil, his arm snakes its way around your waist from behind. Despite him being so close and having his arm around your middle, his hand is flat and open, careful not to hold you in a way you won’t like.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Bruce whispers to your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You roll your eyes in amusement and turn your head to face his. Your breath hitches — a bit too obviously and embarrassingly so — as you realize that you’re so close to him. However, you quickly recover and reply, “Isn’t that line a bit too overdone for you, Bruce?”

He shrugs a shoulder playfully, his full glass of champagne sloshing in the flute.

“It always works,” he says. “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. But how about I try another line?”

With a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, his open palm grips your hip, just right above the curve of your backside. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and his grip hesitant, almost like he isn’t very sure of himself or of something else. Nevertheless, you’ll fall for his charm anytime.

“You wanna get out of here?”

That single question brings you to his bedroom, which is almost the entire floor if it weren’t for the foyer to give him privacy from the elevator. You’ve never seen a bedroom quite like it. Floor-to-ceiling windows that display a view of Gotham, frosted glass panes around his bed for some semblance of privacy, and a sitting area beside it that looks over the city. It’s an apartment without a kitchen, which you’d be more astonished about if your breath weren’t taken away by Bruce’s slow kisses on your lips and your neck.

He has you on your back on the bed, silky taupe sheets like clouds under you. He hovers over you, his entire figure taking over your vision, his muscles hidden by a black Giorgio Armani suit and gray tie. His lips and tongue move languidly against yours like he has all the time in the world. He holds himself up by a hand beside your head and the other presses your thigh against his hip. His hand idly runs up and down under your dress, but never quite reaches anywhere near where you need him the most.

“Bruce, plea—“

You’re interrupted by his phone on the nightstand. Your head whips to the side, glaring at the screeching machine. Who the hell is calling during this time of night? Well, perhaps that’s what you get for dating a billionaire. Rich people are always eccentric.

He suddenly stiffens up and gets off you. A pang of hurt in your heart rings as you notice how quickly he gets up like he got burnt. Your brows furrow, confused and a bit offended.

“Who is that?” you ask and you can’t help the way you sound so jealous. You’re aware of the fact that you shouldn’t be — not yet — but the fact that you’re in his bed is making you more sensitive about your feelings for him.

“Uh,” he reaches for his phone. He looks at the screen. “It’s Lucius Fox.” Lie. “I have to take this. I’m sorry.”

He disappears into the bathroom to apparently take his call. In fact, it is just an alarm set with a ringtone to sound like a phone call. He feels especially bad about using you as an alibi, but his usual strategy to get out of parties that stretch on too late involve his dates.

Due to his playboy image, nobody questions when he leaves too early. He rarely sleeps with the women he invites to parties, and if he doesn’t, they never tell anyway because it hurts their pride to say that Bruce Wayne didn’t sleep with them. It never hurt him either. You, however, are different. He wishes he doesn’t have to use you.

He emerges out the bathroom with a regretful look on his face. You don’t know how much it also hurts for him to make you leave.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll have Alfred drive you home.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, it’s just work. But it’s urgent,” he replies and he almost winces at how uncharacteristically bad he is at lying to you.

“Oh, of course. It’s alright, Bruce.”

This time, you don’t hide your disappointment.

He tries his best to not abandon you every time you see each other. He scoots your meetups an hour or so earlier because Batman can’t adjust, not even for you. Then, he texts and calls you whenever he’s free and awake, giving you random updates that he doesn’t know make your day. His efforts reassure you eventually, and you’re no longer mad at his odd tendency to leave you so suddenly in the middle of the night or when it nears twelve. Now that you’re both content with how often you see each other and how often your nights don’t get interrupted, you’re both happy.

One day, you surprise him at his penthouse after work. It’s a random visit, to be frank, and you just wanted to watch television or do anything boring with him after you eat the dinner you have brought. What you don’t expect is that you’ll be on your back on his couch, stuffed full of his cock as the TV plays in the background, neither of you interested to watch it. No dinner yet either, but he's enough to make you full and wanting more.

Airy moans leave your lips as he thrusts into you, holding onto his broad shoulders by bunching up the fabric of his expensive shirt in clenched fists. It has never occurred to you that you’ve never seen him without his shirt off even during sex. You’ve always been too distracted to care.

Too distracted like right now. The stretch of him in your cunt is delicious, satiating your appetite in ways that no food or other pleasure could. His pelvis rubs against your clit and you cry out every time his tip hits that spot in you while your bundle of nerves grind against his firm body. With every grind of hips, you reach new heights on your way to orgasm.

Bruce is a sight to behold. His eyes half-lidded mouth parted, moans spill from his wet lips. His chocolate brown hair a mess on his head, a product of your hands mussing them up earlier while making out. His muscled chest heaves, pressing against your softer one when he inhales. When your eyes aren't rolling back, you love staring at him above you.

“I— 'm close,” you manage to mumble out despite being so cock drunk.

"Me too, sweetheart," he growls out, a lower register that sounds unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, considering that you've only heard this tone from him during intimacy.

Bruce has one ear for you and the other for the TV, even when he's already nearing climax. The television is now apparently showing the news. The reporter says something about a bank robbery organized by the Joker and—

His hips thrust roughly into yours out of instinct, shocking you and making you moan even louder. He doesn't go faster, knowing it doesn't quicken the job. He takes your legs by the crook of your knees and presses your thighs to your torso, essentially folding you into a position you never knew you can do. You let go of his shirt and tangle your hands into his already-messy hair. With this new angle, his cock reaches deeper inside of you.

"Bruce," you moan out, your eyes rolling back. "Oh, fuck."

You don't know that he's trying very hard to make this good for you while letting him have time to take care of the bank robbery. He doesn't want to leave you in the dust again, mostly because it'll be an asshole move and because you're both on the verge of orgasm and a hard-on isn't something to bring to a fight.

More importantly for him, he doesn't want to leave you hanging. He can't express his thoughts and feelings very well other than through gifts and sex, so he wants to show you how much he adores you, especially that he's leaving you again. He knows it isn't enough, but it's all he can do for now.

He leans his head down to kiss you, sloppy and all tongues. While you're distracted by his mouth and his cock, he reaches a hand down and rubs circles on your clit while he thrusts in and out of you.

He proudly watches as you unravel underneath him, masterfully played by him like an instrument made only for him. Your toes curl in the air as you stiffen up and relax. He swallows your moans with his kisses, eagerly drinking in your pretty noises. He helps you ride it out like the gentleman he is, still moving in and out of your pussy.

He follows suit, coming deep inside you and painting your walls white. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack.

He internally curses when he realizes he didn't have a condom on and he's only lucky that you told him before you take birth control — and that you even allowed him to come in you. But still, he curses at his lapse of sensibility.

You come down from your high. Bruce is counting down the seconds and the minutes. He needs to be out of here as soon as possible to deal with the Joker. He slowly pulls out of you, come dripping down your flesh mixed with your wetness. But you can't even bask in the afterglow because of his urgent task.

"You alright, darling?" he asks breathlessly. He looks you up and down, surveying you.

You can only nod and hum in affirmation. Eyes half-lidded and gaze trained on him in a daze.

"You don't mind if I have to go now? Something came up."

Oh, how you hate that. Why does something always come up when you're in the middle of something?

"It's alright, Bruce."

That evening, Batman is too late to catch the Joker. When he gets there, he was already in his getaway car. He pursues him, leading to a high-speed chase around the city. However, the Joker has traps ready on the way. He should've known that he'd anticipate his presence.

Bruce comes home to you weary and frustrated. He takes it out on you, inexplicably being rougher than usual for your round two. You take it, enjoying it anyway. But still, something lingers in the back of your mind, a thought rearing its ugly head since the time he left — maybe even since a few months ago.

Is he not taking your relationship seriously? You should've guessed he wouldn't, you think, considering he does have a reputation. But you're optimistic enough to have thought that perhaps his reputation is mostly the work of the media. Even then, you can't deny the photos and videos you've seen of him. Perhaps it's true. He doesn't value you as much as you value him.

You don't talk to him since that day. You don't outright avoid him but when he doesn't reach out, you don't either.

He notices you distancing yourself from him. He figures that maybe you need some space, which is one of the worst decisions he can ever do when it comes to this situation. He has never been good with relationships.

It further upsets you. In your mind, he doesn't even care when you stop approaching him. He doesn't care that you're not seeing each other or even talking to each other much. He's only there if you want him first.

To Bruce, it's fine that you need space. It's fine that he doesn't get to see you as much as he wants to — at least, that's what he tells himself. Batman feels differently. His punches hit harder, the bruises he leaves much darker. Even though no one else knows about you and him, Gotham knows there's something upsetting the Bat more than usual.

He thinks about telling you his secret but that involves putting you in possible danger. No one else can know he is Batman. Not even you, not even if he cares for you so much. He'd rather distance form between you than tell you. He's got eyes on you, anyway.

You don't know how to go about this. It seems too presumptuous to barge into his penthouse. You're obviously not on that level of relationship to do so. A call is too impersonal. So, you don't go about it at all. You have never been good at communication.

You spend days constantly on the verge of tears, bottling up every drop of frustration you've felt ever since Bruce started acting suspicious around you. When you're at work, you stifle the urge to cry. When you're at home, you hold yourself back from calling him — and then cry. It's a vicious cycle and it hurts even more than when he leaves you.

Sighing, you insert the key into your car, more than ready to drive home after work. Suddenly, strong hands grab you into a beat-up black SUV parked nearby. You scream and flail, but nobody is around to help, or maybe they're too unbothered and selfish to care. This is Gotham after all; these things happen every day.

You can't see or speak, blindfolded and a duct tape covering your mouth. You can only hear what the kidnappers are talking about as they drive you to an unknown location. It's an isolatory experience and how you wish you were actually alone instead of tied up and blindfolded. Tears wet the bandana tied around your head as you quietly cry.

"Wayne would pay so much money to get that back."

"Would he? He has a new bitch every week."

"Lucky fucker."

"Hope not too lucky. I wanna get at least a mill from this bitch."

A loud bang from the roof of the car startles all of you. The driver slams the brakes, flinging you to the back of the front seat, a cry of pain ripping from your throat.

"Shit! It's Batman!"

"Fuck! I told you we shouldn't mess with Wayne! He has him in his payroll!"

The doors of the SUV open and the kidnappers hit you on the way as they rush out. You hear scuffling and punching and metal banging on metal and bones breaking. A sob escapes you despite you trying to keep your resolve.

"Don't let me see you again," a voice growls out. Then, what seems to be a body slams onto the side of the car.

Wait, that voice sounds familiar...

A rough material brushes your skin as — you assume — Batman rips off the tape on your mouth. A gasp leaves you, heaving in a deep breath. You hear metal ripping fabric and you can see again. You blink through your tears, adjusting to the light, which isn't much as you're in a lonely road in the middle of the night. Eventually, your limbs are free too, but you're still too weak to stand or walk.

Black surrounds his eyes due to his cowl and, with his armor and cape, he is completely shrouded in darkness. But you'd know those eyes anywhere. You'd know those lips anywhere. He can't hide even in darkness, his own domain.

"Bruce," you breathe out in relief.

Surprising him, you wrap your arms around his armored neck, pulling him close to you in an embrace. It's not the warmest nor most comfortable hug in the world, but the fact that it is him is what matters.

His eyes widen. How did you guess it was him so easily? Nevertheless, without missing a beat, his arms wrap around you protectively. His muscular form and dark cape warm you up and shield you from the world. He is relieved that his tracker works and alerted him at the right time. You're safe in his arms now.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, holding back another sob. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, the armor pressing onto your cheek.

Now, you understand. You understand all his sudden leaving, the odd hours he replies to your texts, his persistent drowsiness, and the random bruises. You feel like an ass for being cold towards him when he's risking his life every night for the city. Not to say that you like the idea of your boyfriend running around beating up criminals during the night, but the fact that he is so selfless while you aren't makes you feel terrible.

"No... I should be the one who's sorry," he says and there's a sense of hesitancy in it, like he has never said those words before in that order. Still, you detect his sincerity and accept it.

In a moment of impulse, you pull away from the hug only to rest your hands on his covered cheeks and to press your lips against his. You tilt your head, the hard nose of his cowl pressing against your cheek. The pain goes unnoticed, your mind more preoccupied with how much you've missed his lips on yours.

As his tongue runs through the seam of your lips, coaxing it open, he pulls away as though he remembers where you are. Almost to placate you for the loss of contact, he runs a hand down your hair, petting you like a doll, a faint smile on his lips. It's a peculiar sight seeing the Batman with an expression other than stony emotionlessness or rage. The fact that you're the reason why makes the butterflies in your belly flutter even quicker. It makes you feel special.

"I'm bringing you home. I'll be there when the sun rises."

For the first time, you're not dejected nor disappointed unlike the other times you've uttered those words as you reply with a small grin tugging at your lips.

"Alright, Bruce."

[mellosdrawings]

Ok, originally I didn't want to do Twst OCs that weren't based on actual Disney characters, but I broke my one rule because @marigoldendragon triple dog dared me to do an octopus OC. Which I failed, because I did a jellyfish one instead :'D

(Just... pretend he's one of those random jellyfish from that one scene in Finding Nemo)

So yeah, here's my new Ignihyde OC I guess.

Noah Jackson

18 years old, 3rd year

Ignihyde

From the Coral Sea, jellyfish merman

He/Him though he doesn't mind any other pronouns

Signature Spell: Go With the Flow

-Basically an anti gravity spell that allows him or whoever he touches to move through the air the same way he does under water

-The tiniest gust of wind can make him float away

-If he uses it right before he gets knocked out by a spell he just flies away like a balloon with only minimal damages

-While he can stir himself through the air, the people that get affected by his spell generally can't. Only some merfolk manage to adjust and swim through the air

-It also works on objects. His own room is constantly under the spell while he's inside so he can emulate his own home

No heart, no brain, only vibes.

Noah is not the brightest and he knows it. His motto is to just "go with the flow". Whatever is funniest gets his attention, but he never goes out of his way to actually catch it. He just ~vibes~. Whatever happens happens. Good stuff? Great, let's have some fun! Bad stuff? Oh well, let's just wait for it to pass.

Nothing has weight for him. While it means he doesn't get hurt much in life because he just doesn't care, it can be a huge drag for the people around him.

Random facts:

-Noah is based on the Sea Nettle jellyfish. While his sting isn't necessarily deadly, he certainly can hurt others.

-He is only 1.56 meters tall.

-He is genuinely blind but he manages to get around by sensing light and magic. He still regularly sticks to someone and "goes with the flow" of the crowd.

-While very confused about getting sorted into Ignihyde, he immediately got into it because of the lights. He's surprisingly efficient at technomancy and uses speech-to-text to write his homeworks.

-He's pretty sensitive to waves so his dormmates often come to him when they are in search of the best spot to receive Wi-Fi.

-Noah always moves his arms around. His head too, to make his hair flow, which is a problem since his hair have the same toxic properties as his tentacles.

-His stamina is terrible and he has no strength whatsoever.

-He bargained with Sam to get a skirt because pants are too restrictive for him. He doesn't like his Dorm Uniform at all.

-He loses stuff. A LOT!

-His best subject is Flight.

-He's part of the Pop Music club but he has completely forgotten about it. He plays wind instruments, mostly ocarina or pan flute, but he also loves instruments that are bigger than he is.

(Jellyfish pic source)

(@marigoldendragon The drawings with Lachlan will be posted tomorrow, promise!)

[yourdarlingalina]

is it new years yet? | jack hughes

synopsis: y/n's new years kiss is the last person she expected, her former fuck buddy pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: slightly steamy, heavy making out, mentions of sex, a bit angsty, not properly proofread is it new years yet? - sabrina carpenter

What's the best way to forget about your fuck buddy who broke things off with you a week before Christmas? Who you definitely don't have feelings for and who definitely didn't find out about said feelings by accident?

From a responsible person's point of view, it was the correct decision. I fell for someone who just wanted no strings attached sex. He doesn't want a relationship, and it is supposed to save me from being hurt even worse in the future. But I am not a responsible person. A responsible person wouldn't have been talking about their feelings with friends when they knew that the person they had feelings for was also in the same bar.

Which is how I ended up in my current situation. A glass of champagne in one hand while the other holds onto a random guy's shoulder as we sway and grind to the upbeat tempo blasting through the club's speakers. The best way to get over a guy is to get under a new one, right? At least, that's what my friends were telling me as they convinced me to go out with them for New Year's Eve.

"Start the new year off with someone new."

And start the new year off with someone new I will. The guy in front of me is decent looking, he's no Jack but he'd do. His hands were at least doing all the right things, one gripping my hip to pull me closer as the other was pushing my hair out of the way of my neck so that he could leave sloppy open mouthed kisses to my skin. Hands roamed down my body as I brought the champagne flute closer to my lips, this night would require copious amounts of alcohol if I am to make it to midnight. He pawed his hands down from my hips to my ass, gripping and squeezing in ways that should be making me want to push my body harder against his. His mouth trailing from my neck down to cleavage, nipping and sucking at the exposed flesh.

He was doing everything right to my body, but it just didn't feel right. I wanted it to be Jack who was brave enough to handle me this way in the middle of a crowded club, not ashamed to be seen with me, but it wasn't. He made it very clear that he only wanted me in private, with no one knowing that I was his on those nights and that he was mine, even if it was only for a short time. It was like he knew my body better than I did, knew what buttons to press to make me cry out his name. How he made me come undone again and again. The kisses that gave me full body shivers and touches that left my skin feeling like it was set alight.

I was not getting those feelings with the man attached to my body. He seemed like he'd be a great lover for a night, but not in the way I needed. Perhaps if I met him before everything, I could be happy with him but it felt like I had been ruined.

A party popper would end up becoming my hero of the night when one went off right next to my ear causing the glass in my hand to tumble down, splashing champagne on the man as it made its way down to shatter on the floor.

"Oh God! I am so sorry!" I profusely apologize as the man whose name I can't quite remember jumps away from me.

"It's alright, suppose I was gonna end up sticky tonight anyway. I'll be back." He shoots me a wink as he makes off in the direction of the bathrooms. I take the brief moment to escape to the bar, being careful to not slip on the alcohol or broken glass scattering the floor.

I push past the glitter and sweat coated bodies, pushing myself into a corner where I don't think my former dance partner will find me. One of the bartenders comes over to take my drink order not long after I get into my seat.

"What can I get for you?" The man asks quickly, obviously on the verge of losing it due to the new year's rush tonight.

"She'll have a vodka cranberry and I'll have a beer." A voice says from behind me, a voice I know extremely well. I didn't know he was going to be here tonight. Not a single person thought to mention that to me? The bartender makes a move to speak but the man behind me continues, "Brand doesn't matter, just whatever you have." The bartender just nods then scurries off to get our drinks.

I slowly turn on my stool to face him.

"Jack." I say, acknowledging him.

"y/n." He says back, sending shivers down my spine with just how he says my name. He moves closer, keeping me between the counter and his body. Leaning over his body almost touches mine, he keeps his eyes on me, his face getting closer, and for just a second I think he's about to kiss me, but his fingers wrap around the beer bottle that was placed on the counter and suddenly he's back where he was originally standing. "You seem to be having fun tonight."

"You've been watching me?" I blurt out before I could think. Instead, grabbing my drink, putting it to my mouth before I could say anything else.

"Hard not to when you're basically letting whoever that was fuck you in front of everyone." He bitterly spits out. He's jealous? He's not allowed to be jealous. He doesn't want me, I got that loud and clear.

"So? Why do you care?" His eyes snap to me. "I'm not yours, I never was." I break my eyes away from his, suddenly thinking about how interesting my drink looks. He smirks at my sudden movement, his fingers grip my chin and force me to look at him. His face is so close to mine again, I can feel his breath on my face, can smell the alcohol off his lips. He's intoxicating. I clench my thighs together at the small act. Even like this he still has so much power over me. I am undoubtedly his.

His eyes flick from my eyes down to my clenched thighs to my eyes again to the countdown clock behind me and finally back to my eyes. "Thirty minutes till midnight. Meet me on the balcony upstairs in fifteen?" He's asking but it comes out as more of a command.

"Why would I do that?" I push back. I can at least hold onto a little bit of my dignity during this. Can't I? Might be debatable.

"Because I made a mistake two weeks ago." He whispers against my lips. My eyes flutter shut, he's gone when I open them.

◈   ◈   ◈   ◈   ◈   ◈   ◈   ◈   ◈

Fifteen minutes went by quicker than I would've liked for them to. I still haven't made up mind on if I should talk to him or not, but my body decided that I'd still go. I slowly made my way up, giving myself more time to collect my thoughts. I hadn't talked to him properly since that night.

It was a night out after a big win, Jack had invited me and some friends to go out with him and the team. Teasing remarks were thrown at me about how I look at Jack like I was in love. I never did hide my staring well. He had noticed too, how when he looked over at me, my eyes were already on him. Adoration was obvious in my eyes when they were on him. When I got quiet and didn't make any attempt to shoot down the accusations they all got loud. "You love Jack!" They shouted over and over. My cheeks flushed, embarrassment flooded up veins, I had to get away from it.

He heard. I turned to leave the group and he was behind me, eyes wide and jaw slack in shock. He was frozen, a deer in headlights. Me whispering his name snapped him out of his daze causing him to walk off in the opposite direction. I made the mistake of going after him.

"We said no strings attached." He said after the door slammed behind me, his back still facing me.

"I know." My words came out whispered, I was terrified of this. This was never meant to happen. Feelings were never supposed to happen. He was never supposed to find out that one of our few rules were broken.

"We can't continue like this." He finally turned and faced me. He showed no emotion, he was so goddamn hard to read. His blank facial expressions would be the bane of my existence.

"I know." I whispered again, the only words I could get out. I fucked up, by catching feelings, by continuing this when I knew I caught feelings. I tried to push them down and pretend that they didn't exist, but it just wasn't enough.

"I don't love you." I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the tears start to well up and not daring to let them have the chance of escaping. I knew how he felt, but hearing it was a completely different feeling.

"I know." I sobbed out. He was gone by the time I opened my eyes.

Here I was, yet again, going after him. I somehow made it to the top of the stairs and through the crowd of dancing bodies. There he was, standing on the balcony, leaning over the railing and looking out at the Hudson. I stood there for a good minute, just staring at him, debating on if it was even worth listening to him. Did he really make a mistake or was he just feeling guilty that he didn't reciprocate my feelings?

"What was the mistake?" I finally ask.

His head whips around so fast that I almost think that he's about to give himself whiplash. A small laugh like huff comes out as I walk further out onto the balcony.

"I almost thought you weren't gonna come." His voice is softer, careful, like he was actually scared of the thought that I wouldn't meet him. I look back at the countdown clock on the wall, ten minutes to midnight.

"I like to be fashionably late." He lets a small laugh escape at my comment. God, I love that sound.

"You always have." He turns away again, hands gripping the railing, knuckles turning white from the tension.

"You still haven't answered my question." I say, waiting for him to finally tell me what the mistake was. Was he regretting ending us or how he spoke to me?

"That night." He starts to say before cutting himself off, lips pursed into a thin line.

"Yes?" I nudge his leg with the tip of my heel. He looks at me, eyes scanning my face like he's trying to read my thoughts. Trying to get any idea of what I'm thinking.

"I lied to you." No. "I said I didn't love you." No. "I lied." No.

I should be wanting to hear this, but I don't. I never thought I'd be the type of person to run back to a man just because he gives me a pretty apology and I will not start now, especially when I know it's not true.

"You don't love me, you just miss the sex. Don't worry, you'll find someone else to suck your dick." I move to walk away before I feel this hand come up to grip my arm. He was not going to make this easy for me. All I want to do is go home and crawl under my blankets, forget that all of this even happened in the first place.

"Please, just hear me out." I turn my head to look at him and goddamn those eyes that make me want to melt. He's looking at me so sweetly, I've never seen him look at anyone like this.

"Make it quick." I brush off his hand and lean back towards the railing.

"Oh come on, you know I don't do quickies." He attempts to make a joke, a playful smile pulling on his lips. It quickly fades though as he get serious again. "I broke our rule before we even made it." My head snaps up at his words. What?

"I loved you before we slept together that first time." He can't be telling me the truth. No, our first night together was a drunken mess that was just meant to be a one night stand. The relationship that came after was just mutually beneficial, he didn't have to worry about someone running to the tabloids and I got someone who touched me in a way I didn't think was possible.

"Stop lying to me." I choke out. I don't need a pity confession from him, especially when I just want to leave him behind next year which is in, I quickly check the clock, three minutes.

"I'm not!" He counters back just as the words leave my mouth.

"If you loved me you wouldn't have reacted like that." My eyes are brimming with tears, this is not how I wanted my night to go. I just wanted to find a new guy to kiss at midnight to make me forget about Jack.

"I never thought you'd feel the same." How he could think that is astounding. I don't think he realizes just how magnetic he is, and not just because he's Jack Hughes, hockey star. No, he was much more than that. A good friend, a shoulder to lean on, someone that listens when you really need it, a respectful person who makes you feel like you're floating when his attention is on you. "I'm not good at expressing my emotions."

"Yeah, no shit!" I nearly scream at him. "What do you expect me to do with this?"

"I want to start fresh next year." He admits, his eyes lock back onto mine. "If you gave me another chance, I promise, I won't fuck it up again." He's not lying, he's being genuine. I can see it written all over his face, the softening of his eyes, the breaking down of his walls. He's having a hard time even attempting to be vulnerable about this.

The shouting from the party starts to get louder. "Ten!" Maybe I should give him another chance. "Nine!" If I get hurt again then it's on me. "Eight!" He is who I want to be with. "Seven!" Why not? Is this not what I wanted just hours ago? "Six!"

"Kiss me." I tell him.

"Five!"

"What?" He sputters out.

"Four!"

"You heard me." I say, giving him a soft smile so that he knows I truly mean it.

"Three!" He shifts his body to be parallel mine. "Two!" His hands cup my cheeks. "One!" His lips meet mine as literal fireworks go off. "Happy New Year!" People shout around us. But my mind is just on him. As he's pulling me as close as humanly possible but it's still not enough.

My hands snake up with his abdomen, fingers gripping at anything they can. His hands move to my hair, to my neck, down my chest, caressing softly down to my hips, pulling and pleading to get as close as possible. My body was being set alight, the familiar feeling I've been yearning for. He's pulling sounds out from me that I've never made before. It's from the feeling that he's fully mine now, no hesitancy in his movements, he's confident and proud in what he's doing. 

My fingers move up to curl around strands of his hair, pulling his face fully flush to mine, lips melding and moving against each other at a fiery pace. We break away unfortunately to catch our breath, our smiling faces still touching, neither one of us making an attempt to move farther away. In fact, he's nuzzling his face even closer into mine, if that was even possible.

"What are you going to do with me now?" I ask against his lips, looking up into those beautiful, mind melting, ocean like eyes.

"Start the year off right, by apologizing in so many ways." He says then capturing my lips again before dragging me through the crowd of bodies, down the stairs, and out of the door.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Possession

klaus mikaelson works other tvd works masterlist

Summary -> klaus hates watching you talk with another man, even if it is his brother. and it his duty as the man that owns you to remind you of whom you belong to (1.4k)

Warnings -> 18+ minors dni, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, possessiveness, some toxicity, jealousy, brief mentions of death and turning, crying

Venom was poised on Klaus’ tongue as he watched his beloved, glaring daggers at her form as she watched Y/N laugh at something dismal that one of his brothers had said. She was supposed to remember that she belonged to him, she was his mere little human that was his own personal slave for affection.

He sat there, nostrils flaring, as he sipped out of the rich flute, placing it upon the side table before he hauled himself to his feet, stalking toward his girl. She was his, and she wasn’t allowed to forget that, he didn’t care if she was just being friendly, any niceties were reserved for him alone. Elijah sensed the homicidal distress radiating from his sibling, and chose it best to remain by Y/N’s side as Niklaus reached them. “Brother.” He greeted him, bowing his head respectively at the younger one of their family.

Despite the politeness, Klaus wished to scorn the smile that Elijah had caused from Y/N’s face; he had grown more possessive since becoming a hybrid and unlocking his werewolf side. “Get away from my woman, now.” He spoke slowly, reaching towards Y/N and dragging her into his arms as she gently shook. “It’s okay love, I’m here now. Cling to me all you want.”

And she did, her hands balling up the fabric of his shirt as her face rested lowly on his chest, remaining silent as Klaus forbade his brother from sharing the presence of them both in his art room. Because she was his little masterpiece that he had trained to mould around himself, he raised her chin so she was forced to look up at him, their eyes strongly meeting. Y/N knew that she would be in trouble if she broke the visual contact, she had to obey him, he was the one that controlled this relationship, and most times than not her too.

“You belong to me, do you understand that Y/N?” His interrogative enquiry made her physically gulp, but respectfully she nodded at the Original, allowing him to cradle her jaw in his powerful hands until they drifted down her neck, posing a little pressure to the area. “That’s my good girl.” He praised her, which made her utter an almost inaudible whimper, that made him smirk to himself. Oh, how he should have made Elijah stay so that he could witness how she folded under his demeanour, and how she knew that she was all his.

“Klaus.”

“That’s right, I want that to be the only name that every slips out from your pretty mouth.” He responded, leading her backwards until her back hit a wet canvas, the stroke of his artistic touch adorning the back of her clothing. “Can you do that love, can you only say my name for all eternity.” He still had yet to turn her, he was waiting until they were both ready for that level of commitment, but for now he was content looming above her, blocking her shadow from the eyes of anyone else.

“Yes. Of course, it shan’t be a problem.” He allowed her hands to trail up upon his shoulders, he walked his stature farther into her, trapping her against the material of the splattered canvas. “That’s my girl.” He smiled adoringly at her, meeting her lips lightly with his own before his actions escalated, and he grew hungrier for her touch. His tongue swept within her gasping mouth, holding her still so that he could execute his calculated attack.

Without need of any compliance from his little object, he raised her dress over her head, finding her completely nude underneath, just the way that he liked her to be. And perhaps that was a reason of many as to why he was startled by the sight of her and Elijah harmlessly conversing. He knew that whenever he wanted, her body was conveniently always prepared for him to take her as he pleased, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Klaus tossed off his long sleeved shirt, exploiting his exterior to his girl who could only trail her hand down his toned stomach, but he grasped her wrist, shoving it away as he continued to strip down to his birthday suit. And now they were both undressed and ready for what he wanted, Y/N moaned surprised yet not by how he effortlessly hoisted her into his arms, and swooned her body against the wall beside them, his fingertips slipping down and down until they were teasing at her wet entrance.

They easily glided into Y/N’s walls, probing her insides with his long digits, two precisely, as he rested his nose into the crook of her neck, smelling how her blood boiled with arousal and finding it relaxing at how her pulse harshly raised from the contact he granted her with. “Look at how ready your body always is for me, it’s like you were made for me. My pretty little thing.” His words did something to Y/N, made her insides twist as he supplied her with the most sufficient way that he could show her his love.

A whine tore out from Y/N’s throat as he respectfully removed his fingers, leaving her feel empty and dismal in his predator like grasp. However the emptiness was soon filled as he pushed his cock into her cunt, stretching her until she felt perfectly full. It must have been some sick joke, he thought to himself and hid his deviant chuckle in the rasp of a groan; it was really as though his mother had endured she was born into the world in the time he needed her most. He was all he wanted, and it was his duty to ensure that Y/N felt the same way about him.

If she didn’t then there would be nothing to stop all hell from breaking loose, sincerely by the hybrid of course. But he was convinced he had nothing to worry about considering the present as he fucked her without an inkling of guilt or compassion for the fact that one day he would make her like him. “Klaus, holy fuck.” Her head collided back into the wall, no doubt giving her an ache within her head, but he only found it that much more attractive as she became significantly more dazed from the hit on her noggin and the strength behind his starved thrusts.

“Hardly holy.” Klaus corrected her, he was the deepest sin that she had ever committed, and ever would. She was wrapped around him like a shawl, clinging onto dear life until she allowed him to take the humanity of it away. She passionately kissed his neck, biting it as though she was growing her vampiric appetite before she actually turned. “Though your cunt feels like heaven.” He muttered, smirking as he thought that nobody would every see her in this state. This was his Y/N, the goddess of his greediest desires, and he would never allow her to slip away.

“Can I cum, Klaus, please?” There were tears of diamond stimulation in Y/N’s gorgeous eyes, it was as though she was compelled by his swift and jarring movements, pleading for his permission to let her release the sparking build up that was daring to explode within her body. “Please, please, please. Want to cum all over your perfect cock.” Oh did she now? Well that was no surprise, it never was, and she always held it together until he allowed her to release, as she knew the consequences if she didn’t. It wasn’t her orgasm, it belonged to him, and she wasn’t allowed it unless he granted her the lustful wish that was laced elegantly in her mind.

“Cum for me Y/N, I want to feel you cum all over me love.” Not even an instant passed and he felt her walls contract gratefully around him, washing her everlasting attraction for the man that owned her onto his length. Once she had finished her orgasmic bliss, he only fucked her harder, causing tears to dribble from her eyes, not stopping until he filled her to the hilt and emptied his cum deep within her. And although they had both finished he refused to put Y/N down, he just wanted to hold her, in this haven alone, sweetly stroking her hair as he thought that he was the luckiest man undead. He had her, and she was all his.

[thegleamingmoon]

Beloved.

Chapter 1 - Meeting you.

🪷✨ ❛ In every world, my heart would bloom for you. In every moment, in every lifetime, amidst the stars and the endless ocean, in every heartbeat and whispered breeze, I would choose you always and forever. ❜ ✨🪷

*********

The golden rays of the early morning sun filtered through the intricate carvings of the Padmanabhaswamy Temple, casting a divine glow upon its magnificent structure. And there she was, draped in a simple yet elegant saree as she walked through the temple's corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone floors and like every other day, the air was fragrant with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, as the devotees murmured their prayers, lost in their own worlds of devotion as the girl walked into the inner sanctum, where the majestic form of Lord Padmanabhan lay in eternal slumber.

"Dear lord, please look after the world like you always do. I pray for the good health of my family and dear ones. May you always be with them and keep them happy." This was what she usually prayed for. Nothing more, nothing less. But today was different, she had come here to seek solace in the divine presence of her beloved deity but she still felt restless for reasons unknown.

The strange sensation grew as she moved out from the sanctum to the temple premises, she felt as if someone was watching her. Turning around, her eyes met those of a man standing a few feet away. He was tall and handsome, with an aura of mystery surrounding him. His complexion, very much like the clouds filled with rain and eyes, deep and penetrating that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe.

"Namaskaram", he greeted her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming.

"Namaskaram," she replied, curiosity piqued by this stranger. "Are you new to the this place? I haven't seen you here before."

"Yes, I am new to this city." he said, his eyes twinkling with hidden knowledge. "I’m Aravind. May I know your name?"

"Bhadra. It's nice to meet you, sir", she replied and saw his smile grow wider, making his eyes twinkle with an emotion she couldn't comprehend.

"It's nice to meet you too, Bhadra. And we can drop the formalness." He said as she shyly giggled. It was sweet to hear her name in his beautiful voice. She thought, mentally facepalming to bring herself out of her mind. Something was really wrong with her today.

As they walked through the temple grounds, Bhadra found herself more intrigued, drawn into a conversation with Aravind. They talked about the temple, the city of Thiruvananthapuram, its history, and the legends that surrounded it. He spoke with a depth of understanding that left Bhadra in awe. Hours passed like minutes, and soon the sun began to set, casting an orange hue hue over the temple.

"What brings you here? And how do you know so much about this place?", Bhadra asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Aravind smiled mysteriously. "Well, I have always been connected to this temple."

"Tell me about it." She looked deeper into his eyes, only to find a glimpse of her own secrets that were kept away from the world.

Bhadra lived a simple life, tending to the temple and helping those in need. She didn't remember a time when she was not insanely drawn to the deity. She had always looked up to the blue-hued god who slept on a thousand hooded serpent. She saw him in the vast sky, in her delusional thoughts, in the poetries she wrote, in the songs she sang and in almost everything she did.

She would dream of peacock feathers, moonlit nights and beautiful dense forests where gleamingly blurry visions of her beloved flute player would greet her with bliss and confusion. She would hold on to them to this day and maybe forever, without any expectations but just pure, boundless love that she had.

"Maybe those visions are trying to tell you something? You still get them don't you?"

That deep voice of Aravind broke her chain of thoughts as she looked up at him perplexed and maybe a little annoyed.

"Did you just read my mind?"

He just replied with a cheeky smile as he brought himself dangerously close to her, "Perhaps I just understand you better than anyone else, Bhadra. I have always done so." he gently whispered, only making her confusion grow.

"And I have always wanted to tell you that I love to hear you sing, even though you don't sing often. Your voice melts like honey into my ears. I can listen to it everyday." He looked into her eyes, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"How do you say that when you have never heard me sing? Who are you, Aravind?", she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "You seem to know me in ways that no one else does."

He chuckled even as his eyes were moist, "Oh I have heard you countless times. You, my dearest, are much more than you think of yourself to be."

"What do you mean?"

"As much as I want to explain, I can't. He sighed wistfully. "It's sad, but I have to leave now. I will return soon, Bhadra. Until then, promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"Why?" She clearly didn't understand a thing. It didn't seem fair, or so she thought. This man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, mysterious but familiar, only to say he’d disappear again, leaving her with countless questions. Yet, somehow, it all felt right. Despite not wanting him to leave, she could only hope that he would come back.

Adoring the curls that framed her soft features one last time, Aravind stepped back. "Until next time," he voiced, extending his hand. Bhadra grasped it firmly, losing herself in his eyes as she tearfully bid him goodbye.

"Moley," she heard her father's call and turned around. "I'm here, Appa," she yelled back, hearing his hasty steps as he reached her.

"I knew you'd be here," he said with a warm smile lighting up his kind eyes. "It will be dark soon. I want you to come home with me." He gently caressed her head, and she nodded in agreement.

"Are you okay, kanne? Were you talking to someone here?" He asked, concerned.

Bhadra turned to her side, only to find nobody there and smiled in despair and surprise. It all felt too real to be one of her delusions and too elusive to be reality. She wanted to tell her father about the mysterious person she met but she knew that it would be difficult for him or anyone to believe. So she chose to remain silent about everything that happened today.

"No, Appa. Let's go home" She replied as she followed her father on their way back home.

Today was different indeed.

**********

Moley/Kanne - a way to address a daughter or a little girl in Malayalam.

A/N - Wanted to write something like this for the longest time. This may have some cliche moments but this work by far, is the closest to my heart. And I may turn this into a series if y'all wish. So let's see. I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Tags- @krsnaradhika @houseofbreadpakoda @harinishivaa @achyutapriya @kaal-naagin @sambaridli @sambhavami @yehsahihai @ramayantika @khushireadsandrambles

[littledovesnow]

a snow wedding | young!corioulanus x fem!reader

a/n: you'll never guess who officiates their wedding lmao

word count: 1.8k (i could have gone on for like 10k honestly weddings are so fun to writ)

content warnings: ooc!coriolanus, coryo is nicer in my fics than the book/movie (more of the coriolanus at the start of the movie tbh), some hinting at bedroom festivites

You know,” you looked in the mirror at your maid of honor. “I always thought you and Coryo would be the two at the end of the aisle reciting vows.”

Clemensia choked on her mimosa, laughter bubbling over the glass. “The way he’s always looked at you? Absolutely no doubt in my mind you two would end up together.” She replied, setting the flute over and walking over to you.

You peered over at the pristine white gown hanging up, still just as beautiful as when you picked it out two months ago.

Coriolanus had proposed almost a year ago, wanting nothing more than to finally call you Mrs. Snow. “It would make me the happiest man in the Capitol, the country.”

You nodded furiously, watching as he slid the exquisite gold band adorned with a halo of small diamonds around a larger stone. It was a lavish ring, one you assumed he had ruminated over after securing a permanent position in the Citadel alongside Dr. Gaul.

A knock on the door broke up the conversation between the two women, Tigris popping her head into the makeshift bridal suite. “Just checking to see if you need anything before I go down to meet Grandma’am.”

“Tigris, this gown is to die for!” Clemensia praised the tailor, whose cheeks flushed like she had spent weeks in the sun.

“It’s just something I threw together.”

“Oh, don’t be modest, Tigris. It’s one of the most beautiful designs I’ve seen some out of your studio.” You smiled, pulling Tigris into the room more. “But I do have one thing you might have to help me with.”

“What might that be?”

You gestured to the gown, spinning to look at the two most important women in your life. “Can you ladies help me get into this dress? The corset looks like a game Coryo would make up in the Games.”

Clemensia laughed, and Tigris clapped enthusiastically, setting her purse on the pristine couch in the corner.

-----

Coriolanus messed with the cuff links he had purchased for the day exclusively, looking at the small photograph of his mother he kept in his wallet. It was new for him, carrying a wallet around.

He had only a few things in there, his Citadel ID card, a few hundred dollars­—pocket change for him nowadays—and the crumbled notebook paper he had written his vows on one day in the lab while Dr. Gaul met with President Ravenstill and Dean Highbottom.

They were messy, lines crossed out and words in the margins, and Coriolanus was fairly certain his sweaty palm had rubbed a few lines into illegible scribbles. He wouldn’t need them, though, he’s stared at this paper for weeks, the words engrained into his mind for the rest of his days.

He looked up when he heard a knock on his door, his best man stepping into the room.

“You just about ready?” Festus asked, looking around at the mostly bare room. “I think your grandmother is about ready to charge into the bridal suite and wed the two of you.”

If asked who he would think would be his best man at his wedding, Coriolanus Snow would never have said Festus Creed, but after the 10th Hunger Games and his short Peacekeeping stint, the two grew close, something akin to friendship.

“It was Grandma’am’s idea to have an evening ceremony.” Coriolanus muttered mostly to himself, but he tucked his wallet and vows back into his pocket, nodding at the curly-haired man.

“I am ready.”

-----

Delicately rubbing your sweaty palm on your dress, you peered through the small opening between two columns, trying to get a peek at your soon-to-be husband.

“Oh, you’ll see him soon enough!” Lysistrata Vickers smiled at you, bringing you into a hug.

You, Clemensia, and Lysistrata had all grown closer after your mentorship in the Games, going so far as to become friends and spend weekend trips in Districts One and Two on occasion.

“I haven’t seen him all weekend, Lyssie! He wouldn’t even tell me what color his suit is. All I know is that it complements his eyes, and I got that from Tigris!”

Clemensia and Lysistrata shared a knowing look, having seen Coriolanus’ tuxedo as they wished him a good morning in passing.

“He looks exquisite, I hope that makeup is waterproof because I know you’ll be a puddle as soon as you see him!”

Your grin nearly split your face in two, preparing to seal your fate as a Snow.

Clemensia took your hand and gave it a squeeze, stepping up to walk down the aisle with you since neither of your parents were able to.

Lysistrata marched down the split of chairs first, grinning ear-to-ear as she met up with her own husband, Festus downright devouring her with his eyes.

You took a deep breath as you turned around the corner, eyes dancing from one side of the room to the other.

You and Coriolanus wanted to have a smaller audience in person, with a majority of the Capitol and Districts tuning into the wedding live on TV.

Dr. Gaul, who you and Coriolanus had asked to officiate the wedding, had a positively radiant smile on her face, a rarity for the woman. But how could she not, her two star pupils were getting married today.

You finally locked eyes with your fiancé, you Coriolanus, your Coryo. Most would take the look on his face for a smirk, but you knew the man you were about to marry, you knew he was holding back a million-watt smile.

Before you knew it, you were at the end of the aisle, Clemensia squeezing your hand and taking the bouquet of red and white roses, giving you the chance to smooth the skirt of your gown.

“Hi.” You whispered, cheeks beginning to ache from your smile.

Coriolanus chuckled softly, taking both of your hands in his own, giving them a squeeze. “Hi, gorgeous.”

Dr. Gaul, who was perhaps the only one close enough to hear the small greetings, looked at you both to make sure it was okay for her to begin.

“Today, we are here to celebrate the union of two of Panem’s most important people, two people who I have gotten to know throughout their time at the Academy, University, and mentorship.”

The ceremony was shorter than some other weddings you had been to, with you and Coriolanus wanting to share vows in private, not wanting the nation to listen in, wanting to keep some things between the two of you.

Before you knew it, Dr. Gaul was announcing you two as the Snows, the crowd erupting into cheers as you and Coriolanus shared your first kiss as a married couple.

-----

With the ceremony over, you and Coriolanus had a short period of time before the reception, taking place in one of the grandest ballrooms in the Capitol. There would be more people at the reception than there were at the ceremony, with Coriolanus getting ready to run for election in the coming months, so you knew you had to be on your best behavior and help pull the votes in for your husband.

“What’re you thinking about, wife?” Coriolanus asked, lovesick smile on his face as he referred to you as his wife for the first time.

“Hmm?” You asked, shaking your head like an Etch-a-Sketch. “Nothing, just how lucky I am that you’re my husband.”

“Oh? I thought I was the lucky one.” Coriolanus replied, leaning in to kiss you in the back of the luxury car, which was taking you to the reception hall.

You couldn’t help the blush that tinted your cheeks. “Coryo,” you murmured, slipping off the bright red heels you had picked out to wear to the reception, Coriolanus grinning up at you from between your legs as you had brought the idea up one night a few weeks ago.

“How does it feel, to be a Snow?” Coriolanus asked, knowing glint in his eyes.

“Feels like I’m worth a million bucks.”

Coriolanus laughed, fixing his bowtie as the car pulled up to the entrance, groaning when he saw Lucky Flickerman and his parade of cameras.

You knew better than to say anything to the weatherman-turned-host, leaving it all up to Coriolanus, who greeted the cameras with a stiff smile and a “it feels wonderful, something I’ve always dreamt of” when asked how it felt being married.

Entering the reception, you and Coriolanus were greeted with cheers, clapping, and a few wolf whistles.

You two did first rounds greeting the more important people in the room, people you two had known since you were both children.

Tigris squealed so loud you and Coriolanus both winced at the pitch, but laughed as she clapped and hugged you two. “Officially part of the family! I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Tigris, we aren’t even siblings.” Coriolanus chuckled, hand around your waist and thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

You lightly slapped the man’s chest. “Oh, hush. She’s been a sister to me since we first started dating.”

Tigris took your hand, admiring the new addition to your left ring finger. Next to the engagement ring now sat a white gold wedding band, matching the one that now adorned Coriolanus’ left hand.

You promised to have a girl’s night with Tigris as Coriolanus dragged you away, knowing you two would be talking all night if he didn’t break up the conversation while there was a lull.

The two of you ended up in front of Casca Highbottom, who was unusually well-groomed, beard tame and hair gelled. “Well, I guess you can thank me for this.”

“Pardon?” You asked, feeling Coriolanus tense at the elder’s words.

“If it wasn’t for my thinking of the Hunger Games, you two would never have spoken a word to each other.”

Coriolanus did nothing more than give a short smile to the man, thanking him for his wedding gift before you two left him to his morphling and posca.

“Why did you invite him, Coryo?” You asked, finally being able to sit for a moment.

“It would have looked bad to not have my father’s best friend here. The man technically did is the reason we’re where we are now.”

You shrugged, agreeing with Coriolanus. “Come on, I want some cake.”

Coriolanus laughed, following you towards the four-tiered red-velvet cake.

------

Collapsing onto the bed, you sighed contently as you toed off the red heels you had been dancing in all night.

“What do you think, shall we spend our first night married as we did the last night as an unmarried couple?” Coriolanus asked, already shedding his clothing.

“Oh, I like the way you think.” You smiled, sitting up. “But you have to help me undo this corset before anything.”

a/n: maybe some good angst next? what do you think my little snakes my little rainbow fiends

[acourtofmoonlightandstars]

Find me - Chapter 1

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: At a ball you meet the one person you thought you would never see again, you left him once. Will you leave him again?

Word count: Currently no idea

Warnings: Some sugestiveness, angst and minor details of Azriels work as a spymaster.

Note: So this is loosely based on a dream I once had, it was heartbreaking so I thought I might as well use writing as therapy

Chapter 2

The ballroom was huge and the light flickering from the crystal chandeliers that hung above your head made all jewels, sequin and glitter reflect the light. It was a beautiful sight.

You walked through the crowd of people, looking for no one in particular. You had no idea how or when you’d gotten here, you weren’t even quite sure who had invited you. Usually you stayed within the borders of your own court. But it seemed that you’d made an exception for once.

Everyone seemed somewhat familiar. You smiled at the friends who laughed around the tables filled with food as they filled each other goblets with fairy wine, at the couples who snuck away to find somewhere a little more secluded to steal a minute or two and at those who filled the room with laughter that echoed through the room.

As a waiter walked past you, you grabbed a flute of champagne from his tray. You sipped at the bubbly drink as you scanned the room once more, hoping to see at least one person you recognized. And then you spotted him.

He was beautiful in his black suit, it was such a stark contrast from his usual leathers and blue siphons. His wings were tucked close to him, almost as if he was afraid to take up space. His hair was combed back, revealing his forehead and the slight wrinkle he had between his brows. Your breath hitched, and you suddenly wished you were able to turn invisible at will.

You wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and ruffle his hair, once again revealing his somewhat loose curls that you’d once loved to run your fingers through in the late hours of the night. You wanted nothing more than to once again kiss his lips, to taste him.

But you had left him, that much you knew. But you just couldn’t remember why.

His shadows pooled around his feet, and indicated the constant stream of information that was always available to the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. You felt something cold around your ankle, and as you hiked up your skirt you saw the little rouge shadow that had slipped past its master. It almost looked like a puppy happy to be reunited with its owner as it twirled around you.

You giggled, which only seemed to amuse it even more.

In the hope that you could turn it away before he noticed its absence, you looked towards where he had been mere seconds before, and your eyes met his right away. The eyes you had once loved to stare into for hours at the time, the hazel pools of a man you once knew, seemed sad all of the sudden.

It was an emotion that seemed so out of character for him, and you felt your heart breaking a little at the sight of it, especially knowing that you were most likely the cause of the sadness and the purple shadows that hung underneath his eyes.

Azriel furrowed his brows at the rouge shadow as he no undoubtedly tried calling it back to him. But it seemed like it refused to listen to his quiet command. He walked towards you with a confidence that would make lesser males crumble in his presence.

You felt the blush creeping up your neck before it settled in your cheeks.

“Excuse me” he almost whispered, as he went out of his way to not meet your eyes. He bent down and physically yanked the shadow from you. You could’ve sworn it looked almost sad to leave you behind.

He stood up, and quickly turned away from you, almost fleeing. You don’t know what came over you but you grabbed his wrist and saw him stiffen as your skin came into contact with his.

“Y/N… Please, dont” it was an almost silent plea, one who broke your heart, but there was no way you were letting him walk away from you.

You pulled him towards you, forcing him to face you. He had a pained expression on his face and his eyes were closed. Despite of that you still send a small smile his way. Your other hand found his other wrist and you slowly pulled his arms around your waist.

He reacted instantly and despite not even noticing, he pulled you closer to him. “I’m so sorry” You whispered as you raised your hand to his cold cheek. He leaned into your touch as he finally looked at you, a single tear escaping his eyes. Your thumb quickly whisked it away before anyone had a chance to notice it.

The shadows swirled around the two of you desperate to give you some privacy, and even his wings seemed to be shielding the two of you from wandering eyes.

“I don’t know why I left you, I won't ever leave you again, please just give me another chance” you whispered, your voice threatened to crack, as his eyes searched your face for any sign of a deception, any sign of what you were saying, was nothing more than a lie.

“Don’t say things you might regret…”

You shook your head and sent a small smile his way, it was filled with regret and sadness. “It’s always been you and I’m here now and I promise it won't ever happen again”

But were you able to promise him that? You still couldn’t remember why or how you had left him behind, it was like a distant memory that was locked away, one you couldn’t access.

He pulled you from the ground and you couldn’t help the giggle when he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Desperate for your scent, desperate to feel your heartbeat against his own. “You better mean it” he whispered against your exposed skin.

You pulled at his hair, ruining it even though he had most likely done his best to bend his curls to his will for the event tonight. But you didn’t care, you always liked him better with his bed head anyways.

He kissed his way from that sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, he nibbled at your ear and kissed you from there, down your cheekbones until his lips hovered over your own. And in a blink of an eye he stole your shallow breaths from your mouth with his own. He ate every whimper and small moan, as if they all belonged to him and him alone, as if it would be the crime of the century if any other male heard it.

“You do know you’re in a public place right? Everyone can see you” the voice was teasing, but in no way cruel. Without letting you down Azriel turned towards the other winged male that now stood in front of the two of you.

Azriel laughed, and his brother realized he hadn’t heard that sound in months.

“I apologize Cass” and he felt you stiffen in his arms, and sent you a reassuring smile, before once again returning you to the ground. He was here, the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian. But of course he was, they would all most likely be here.

“It’s all good. But Nesta is gonna hate that she skipped this ball tonight, she would’ve loved to see you take a female in front of all these fancy fae”

This time it was your time to laugh, and you flet how your muscles relaxed at his way of addressing the elephant in the room. Azriel couldn’t help but to pull you closer to his side, lips kissing the top of your head.

“So you must be the one who broke my brother's heart” Cassian said as he crossed his arms, to anyone beside you and Azriel, he would look angry, almost disappointed in the way he stood before you. But all you could see was the happiness he held for his brother.

Cassian sent you a small smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t judge, my own mate was indecisive as well”

You couldn’t help but almost wince at his words. It wasn’t that you were indecisive, or at least you didn’t think that was it…

“It’s okay. It all worked out in the end” Azriel said.

The night went on and his hand never left your hip, he pulled you as close to him as he could whenever he felt a male came too close to you. You adored his possessiveness. Now you just needed to feel like you’d earned it.

The two of you spent almost every day together after the ball. It didn’t take him long to introduce you to the rest of his family. The inner circle of the Night Court.

Your father had told you the stories of both their power and their beauty, but despite all the stories, they were kind, welcoming and warm. You felt right at home.

At no point did you regret making contact with him the night of the ball. In fact you could feel yourself falling in love with Azriel, a little more every day.

He adored you, and he spared no expenses in showing you exactly how much you meant to him. Everytime he came home from a mission, he would bring you flowers from the given court. He would either make you homemade meals, or take you out to eat at the most beautiful restaurants in the city.

He would take you on flights over Valaris, on walks near the Sidra or just down to the nearest cafe or bakery to pick up something sweet or warm whenever you felt a little down. Apart from that he spoiled you rotten with gifts, to such a degree you almost had more diamonds than Amren.

You were however your happiest whenever you woke up to him by your side, and nothing beat the beauty that was his eyes as they reflected the morning sun. They were like liquid gold. He was beautiful, and sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a dream.

As time went on he opened more and more up to you. He told you about his life, both the good and the bad. About his childhood, who he had become after Rhys and Cassian had found him. He told you about his role in the court as both shadowsinger and spymaster, and how he had days where he loathed who he was and what he had done, and others where he celebrated the screams he carved from the lungs of his prisoners.

And despite his fears you didn’t flee or coward when he reached out for you. You had instead held him, and whispered sweet nothing in his ear, confirming that you loved him despite all he had gone through, and that you loved him because of who he was. He had cried in your arms at your words.

You saw him, all of him and you loved both the good and the bad.

At no point had you ever expected to be with a man of his profession, but here you were. The people of Valaris were quick to catch on. They always greeted the two of you, they helped you with picking his gifts and selecting his favorite sweets at the bakery he loved to visit each sunday morning.

The fact that you got to be his in Valaris of all places, was more than enough. Being out and public to all fae, to all courts, would only paint a target on your back. One that he feared would take you from him too soon, whereas you feared that you would be used against him. You had no interest in ever letting it come to that.

After All you wanted nothing more than to protect him, to keep him safe, and he felt the same. He had given you one of his shadows, the rouge that had left his side that night of the ball. After all it seemed like it liked you more than him anyways, but this way he would know if you were ever in any kind of danger.

Nesta had told him it was a little much, especially since the two of you were basically joined at the hip, it was rare that you saw one of you without the other. You were one soul separated into two people. It was clear for all to see.

The inner circle had quickly started making bets on just when the bond would snap for the two of you. And despite the fact that you always rolled your eyes when they began speculating, you couldn’t help but hope that they were right.

Your brother had his mate, and so did Azriels brothers. It would only be right if the two of you had one too right? And if so why wouldn’t the Cauldron grant you eachother? With every fiber of your being you hoped that he was yours and that you were his.

One morning you stood in the courtyard at the house of wind as the sun was slowly rising from its usual hiding place beneath the horizon. Azriel was circling you, wearing nothing but his boots and leather pants.

The look of his tattoos and his muscles were now covered with sweat that was glistening in the morning sun, was enough for you to skip practice and go back to bed with him. You wanted nothing more than to be entangled in him and his scent.

The sun that shone through the fine membrane of his wings made him look like a god of death and war. What a sight to see. He sent you a dazzling smirk as he saw the pure lust and adoration in your eyes. He most likely smelled it on you as well.

You smirked back and sent him a little wave. But it wasn't enough for him to lose focus on his task at hand. It rarely was.

“You look so beautiful angel,” he said. Despite what you might’ve thought he couldn’t help but adore you in the morning light either. He was mere seconds away from abandoning his workout only to throw you over your shoulder and have his way with you. Where that would be, he didn’t care. You chuckled. It was his favorite sound in the entire world, and he hoped that he would always be the one to make you laugh.

And then you felt it. It was as if the world shifted on its axis, it was like it had been so many months ago. It was the same feeling you had the first time you had left him. And as the memories came rushing back to you, you paled.

As your smile dropped and your eyes became distant, almost as if a fog now hid them from the world. “Y/N…?” You heard his fear and desperation as he said your name.

“Promise me you’ll find me, promise me” It was all you could say, you struggled with getting the words out as you felt yourself drifting from this reality. You saw him spring towards you, his wings giving him momentum.

And then everything went dark.

When you woke up the darkness was still surrounding you. You laid there with your eyes closed for a few minutes as you tried to recall his features, his name, where you had been. But there was nothing, nothing except an ache in that place that usually held your heart.

All you remembered was the feeling of running your hands through his hair, how his lips sent electricity down your spine as he kissed that sweet spot right beneath your ear, whenever he snuck up behind you. You remember his rough hands, and a feeling of something cold that you couldn’t quite place. Everything else was a blur.

As you opened your eyes you looked towards the small clock that stood on your bedside table. 06:45. You had to get up soon, but the mere thought of leaving your bed made your head spin. It felt like you had lost something precious, it felt like you had lost your heart, and in its stead there was now only a black hole filled with nothing but emptiness and pain.

You had no idea how to start your day, it felt like you should stay right here, stay at home and mourn the loss of him.

Maybe he remembers, maybe he will be able to find me. You thought as you tried soothing the emptiness in your chest by rubbing the palm of your hand over where it ached.

But how could he? He was after all only a figment of your imagination, he was after all only a character in your dream. But he felt real, and you could nothing but hope that someone, someday would ever love you as unconditionally as he had.

At the other end of Prythian, Azriel Shadowsinger, Spymaster of the Night Court, had woken with such pain in his chest that he for a second had been convinced he had been stabbed in his sleep. And as his dream, no his memories of you, flooded his senses he knew what he needed to do.

You had to be real, he needed you to be real. So he sent out his shadows in search of the one person who now held his heart, the one person he would never stop looking for, you, his mate.

I promise you angle, I will find you

note: aaaaah this is my first ever acotar fic! don't be afraid to leave feedback, I would very much appreciate it! I feel like a part two would be absolutely amazing, but maybe I'll just do it as a stand alone since it's kind of heartbreaking. But we'll see!

[dcvina-claires]

i’m so serious wylan van eck is the character of all time. hates crime but is willing to do anything when he finds out it’s for his bestie. buys stroopwafels for his one night stand even though he’s broke. has “what am i doing here?” playing in a constant loop in his head. has a father who will not stop trying to murder him. met a cute boy and pined over his lips before realizing he was probably an assassin sent by said murderous father. most jealous person to ever exist. pyromaniac. was once actively drowning and decided he would rather die than let go of his gay little satchel. plays the flute. looks 12. is 16. literally neurodivergent and a minor. the list goes on

[newfoundstateof]

but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton. 

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd. 

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

 Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head. 

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself. 

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

39 and 55 for Tav/Astarion? OH AND I LOVE WANT IT ALL, YOUR WRITING IS IMPECCABLE ‼️<3

Prompt(s): leaning into the other’s side + tracing the lines on the other’s hand

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

There really was nothing like being pleasantly tipsy while in good company. Your party was in good spirits, the night was warm and, for once, danger was something that happened to other people. 

Eventually everyone had shuffled off to bed, leaving you and Astarion leaning against each other as the fire crackled on.  Your thoughts floated in front of you, swimming lazily in the air. Everything was just so lovely, especially the other hand in yours.  You couldn’t help but run your fingers across the lines, smiling as you made a study of every angle.  

“See something you like,” Astarion asked, amused.  He was decidedly more sober than you and appeared content to stay that way. 

You nodded idly. “You have beautiful hands. I bet you’d make a wonderful pianist.”

He gave a low laugh, shaking you slightly with the effort. 

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he said, grinning. “You just might be the only person I know who could study a man’s hands and think only of their musical capabilities.” 

You stared confused, before a sinking rush of embarrassment flooded your stomach.

“Oh.”

He laughed again, turning just enough to kiss your temple. “Just teasing darling. Although I do love that color on your cheeks.”

“Serves me right for trying to give you a compliment,” you said, pouting. 

“Oh don’t be like that. I relish them all.” 

You huffed in childish annoyance, which only seemed to humor him. He then raised your entwined hands to the firelight, narrowing his gaze as if to examine them himself. 

“Do you think I’d actually be good?” he asked as a peace offering. 

You let out a sigh. There really was no use trying to stay annoyed with him. 

“Capability is there,” you allowed, “provided you have a very, very patient teacher.”

“Are you offering?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re interested.”

“Depends if you’re offering,” he repeated, with a sly smile. 

You didn’t answer right away, scrunching your face in exaggerated thought. 

“Maybe not piano,” you concluded. “There’s only so far the blind can lead the blind.”

He nodded in understanding. “How about the violin?”

Again, you considered before shaking your head. “Too difficult for a beginner. Lute isn’t bad though.”

He gave a dismissive scoff. “Overdone. The lyre, perhaps?”

“Bit on the nose don’t you think?”

His brows furrowed, his lips pursing in consideration. “A lyre and a player…Yes, I suppose you’re right. The jokes just write themselves. Flute?”

You shrugged. “Never learned actually.”

“Really?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Pan pipes.”

“No.”

“Horns?”

“No to all wind instruments. I think it comes down to mechanics. I never saw the appeal of having to put my lips together and blow.” 

You glanced up at Astarion, keen to watch his reaction. 

He stared at you for a long second, a look of utter confusion on his face. His eyes then widened as a loud laugh barked from his lips. 

You broke that same instant, dissolving into giggles. 

“I can’t believe you said that,” he said, trying and failing to get a hold of himself. “Gods that was awful!” 

“But effective,” you pointed out, grinning. 

He gave another short laugh before shaking his head. “What have I gotten myself into with you?”

“Having regrets?”A wicked smirk flashed across his face. “Far from it, darling.” He then leaned in close, his eyes alight with conspiracy and mirth. “I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

[roach-kinnie]

canon barricade boys as they’re introduced

honestly reading this part of the brick is basically reading a list of headcannons off tumblr but i digress

Enjolras

…a charming young man who was capable of being a terror.

- essentially both a nerd and a jock

- very very pretty

- cares about justice, not women

- his speech can be harsh and intense

Combeferre

He was learned and a purist, precise, eclectic, hard-thinking, and at the same time imaginative ‘to the point of fantasy’, his friends said.

- very close with Enjolras, and really balances his out

- believes that education is really important in society

- gentle, and while he could fight would rather not

Jehan

Jean Prouvaire was a lover; he cherished a pot of flowers, played the flute, wrote verses, loved the people…

- learned Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew to be able to read poetry

- likes to walk through meadows of wild flowers

- he likes to contemplate social issues and the immensity of the heavens

- kind in a way that kindness is like greatness

- an only child

- awkward and shy and fearless

Feuilly

There is no more powerful eloquence than that of indignation based on true conviction, and his was the power that he possessed.

- makes fans

- an orphan - he likes to say that his country took the place of his mother

- he taught himself how to read and write

- affectionate and warm hearted

- is really passionate about issues beyond France (greece, poland, hungary, etc)

Courfeyrac

He possessed that youthful ardour that may be termed the infernal beauty of the spirit.

- ditched the de part of de Courfeyrac because it was too bougie and he wanted to be like lafayette

- he’s essentially the heart of the revolution

- he’s “decent” (victor hugo did him dirty here)

Bahorel

He was a born agitator: that is to say, he enjoyed nothing more than a quarel except a rebellion, and nothing more than a rebellion except a revolution.

- wears crimson waistcoats

- connected the ABC to other groups

- his motto is “no lawyers”, he would literally button up his coat every time he walked by the law school to avoid ‘contamination’

- he has no regular habits but likes to stroll through paris and go to different cafes

Bossuet

Bossuet was a cheerful but unlucky young man, notable for the fact that he succeeded in nothing. On the other hand, he laughed at everything.

- so very bald

- he’s poor, as in basically always broke but still finds a way to squander money when he can

- merry and cheerful and good humoured

- studying law

- couch surfs, but mostly lives with Joly

- bald

Joly

For the rest, he was the gayest of them all.

- med student

- disabled and uses a cane

- jolly and eccentric

Grantaire

Grantaire was a young man who made a point of believing in nothing.

- goes by R because of grand R (aka capital R because he’s such a nerd)

- knows where all the best alcohol is

- so fucking ugly

- a boxer, gymnast and dancer

- completely and utterly in love with Enjolras

[catladyoftheyr]

Dress

Harvey x Fem reader (18+!!)

Summary: you and Harvey engage in passionate *ahem* intimacy on your wedding night.

Warnings: alcohol (champagne), SMUT, cunnilingus, teasing, unprotected PiV intercourse

A/n: none of you can stop me from naming my fics after music I like sorry 😙 (only bought this dress for you take it off)

Word count: 2k apparently??

You and Harvey had just arrived home from the Saloon after a night of celebrating. After all, it was your wedding night. The two of you were still in your formal clothes, albeit his bow tie was askew and your veil had been sliding down slowly. You stood on the porch flushed and giggling like teenagers at the prom. You opened the door but before you could step inside Harvey swept you into his arms.

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry my bride across the threshold?” You nuzzled into his neck in response as he carried you through the entryway. Harvey set you down gently, adjusting your veil and pressing his lips against your forehead. You made an attempt to straighten his bow tie to no avail.

“Champagne?” You asked, retrieving the bottle from the fridge.

“I’d be delighted” Harvey took the bottle from you and gave the bottle a firm twist while aiming toward the sink. There was a loud POP! And you jumped as the cork flew toward you. “Sorry!!”

You laughed as you produced two flutes from the cupboard and Harvey poured the wine. You sipped in momentary, but blissful and comfortable silence. It had been a long day and you were pleased to be alone with your husband. “Put on a record, would you please, darling?” You inquired.

“Of course. Any requests?”

You shook your head and finished your champagne. Harvey set the needle down on the vinyl and you heard a familiar tune begin to play. It was the same album you’d listened to the first time you hung out in his apartment above the clinic. You’d brought him a jar of homemade pickles as an excuse to run into him. Harvey approached and extended his hand to you. “May I have one more dance tonight?”

You clasped hands as you came to your feet. His hand slid to the small of your back and yours on his shoulder. You moved slowly and deliberately as a pair, taking in all of each other. You swayed lightly back and forth in each other’s hold. Harvey brought your hands to his mouth and kissed softly. “I love you.”

“I love you”. You’d exchanged the words innumerable times before, but they felt different tonight. The start of the rest of your lives together. The doctor and the farmer, a pairing you’d never imagined, but now could never dream of anything different. You thought of Evelyn and George, who’d been married over 50 years. How they still remembered their first date in this very town.

“I’m so glad I met you. You.. mean the world to me.” His brown eyes were filled with sincerity. “I can’t imagine a life without you. I know I’m not very exciting, but I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant getting to hold your hand. I love the life we’re starting to build together.”

“Oh, Harvey.” You felt tears well in your eyes. You’d been rendered speechless by his words. Completely overcome by his honesty and devotion. In lieu of speech you pressed your lips together. His mustache brushed against your upper lip as he kissed back.

You dropped the formalities of the slow dance and wrapped your arms around each other as your kiss deepened. You broke the kiss briefly, your lipstick smudged on his face and mustache. “I want you. All of you.”

Harvey understood and kissed you again, passionately. You grabbed his hair and pulled him as close as you could. Your mouth opened and let your tongue enter his. You kissed until you needed to come up for air, stumbling toward the bed. You felt around your hair frenetically, trying to find the comb holding it in place. “Help me get this damn thing off” you demanded. Harvey obliged and set it somewhere. You pulled at his bow tie and tossed it across the room when it came free. You pulled his face to yours again as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Harvey began undoing the buttons on his shirt as quickly as he could. Not fast enough for you however. You tried to take over and popped off several buttons trying to pull it off of him. The shirt landed on the floor and you ran your hands down his chest, trailing the strip of hair that disappeared under the waistband of his slacks. “My turn” he whispered as he slid one of the straps of your dress down your shoulder. He laid you back and kissed you again before brushing his lips against your earlobe. His lips moved to your neck, pausing to suck against your throat.

“People will see” you gasped between soft moans.

“Let them see - That you’re mine” his voice dripped with lust and he returned to marking your neck. Harvey had never said anything like that before and the sudden claiming stirred something between your thighs. He continued to kiss and suck his way down your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark marks behind. His hands found their way to your breasts and massaged them beneath the silk fabric of your wedding dress. “Sit up for a sec.” You brought yourself up onto your hands and Harvey unzipped your gown, helping you slide it down your body.

The gown in a pool on the floor next to his shirt left you in only a bra and panties. Harvey’s eyes slowly grazed over the sight before him, the hardness in pants straining. “You’re so beautiful, love.” Your lips met again as his bare chest pressed against your newly exposed skin. Your hands found footing on his back and you tried to pull him even closer. You opened your legs to let his bulge rub against your mound. The doctor sucked and kissed on your neck some more as he rubbed against your sex. Your clit throbbed, desperate for attention.

“Harvey, please, I need more” you gasped breathlessly. You reached behind your back to unclip your bra and threw it out of the way. Your breasts spilled out and your nipples sat hard and at attention. Harvey stopped in his tracks and his gaze was fixed on your chest.

“Fuck. You’re so gorgeous. I love your breasts. You’re so perfect.” He leant down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, eliciting a soft gasp from you as he swirled his tongue around it. His other hand trailed downward, cupping your pussy. You ground up into his hand trying to increase the pressure, to gain even an ounce of friction. Harvey alternated which nipple he played with and then finally dipped his hands beneath the hem of your underwear. “You’re already so wet, darling.” His fingers glided between your folds with ease, gently circling your clit but never making the direct contact you longed for.

You squirmed beneath him and panted. You’d had enough and grabbed his arm, guiding his hand so that the heel of his palm was flat against your clit. Harvey took the hint and grinded his hand against you, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. You were practically humping his hand chasing the pleasure that was beginning to build. “Harvey please fuck me. I need you inside of me.”

“Not yet my love, I promise I’ll make it worth it. Be a good girl for me.”

You looked up at him with pleading eyes as he removed his hand. Before you could object he tugged on your panties and pulled them down your legs. You were fully exposed now, your pussy glistening with your own wetness. The doctor had a devilish grin on his face before laying on his stomach between your legs. Without warning he pulled you down toward him and began to suck on your clit. You cried out as his lips pursed around the nub. He swirled his tongue around it and his grip on your hips was unrelenting. Mustache hairs added to the friction as you ground against his mouth. You could feel your orgasm building rapidly as he gave fervent attention to your sex. You felt two fingers enter you, curling up and hitting the sweet spot inside you.

Harvey had begun rutting against the bed as he tasted you. His cock was still straining against his pants and he was desperate for a release but he powered through. Tonight was about you he thought to himself. It was about giving his beautiful bride as much pleasure as humanly possible. Your legs were clamped around his head, and you were shifting against him trying to reach your peak. “Ahh-ahh! I’m gonna cum! I’m so close, Harvey- please don’t stop!”

Harvey quickened the pace of his fingers and sucked more firmly on your clit. He felt you tense up clench around his fingers as your orgasm crashed through you. Your legs were a vice grip around him as he continued to to lick and suck and fuck through your orgasm, not stopping until you let your legs fall to the bed. He pulled away and went to wipe his mustache, but stopped and pulled you up into another kiss.

You tasted yourself on Harvey’s lips as you pressed against him. You were still riding the high of your orgasm but weren’t satiated yet. You ached for the fullness that came from Harvey’s cock inside of you. “Lay down” you whispered into his ear, pressing your husband's shoulders down toward the bed. It was your turn to take control. Harvey laid flat on the bed, looking up at you with a mixture of love and unadulterated lust. You wanted so badly to tease him the way he did you, to drag it out and hear him beg and whimper. But you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands undid his belt quickly, immediately undoing his pants as soon as you were able. You could see the outline of his cock through his boxers, a wet spot had formed where his tip sat.

“You’re so needy for me, baby” you cooed as you pulled down his pants and underwear in one smooth motion. His cock sprang to attention, his head glistening with leaking precum. It took every ounce of self control you had to not immediately sink yourself down onto him. Instead you opted to wrap both hands around his length, pumping quickly as he cried out. He was slightly above average in length, but considerably girthy. Your hands could wrap around him, but only barely. You spit in one of your palms and resumed stroking him, using his precum as added lubricant. Harvey had started bucking his hips, fucking into your hands.

“P-please. I need you so bad” He pleaded, eyes rolling back. You couldn’t deny either of you any longer, and used his waist for leverage as you lowered yourself onto his cock. You sank slowly, savoring the familiar stretch before you hit the base. You both moaned from the feeling of being so close. You leaned forward as you began to bounce slowly; Your breasts fell forward and hung in front of Harvey’s face. “You’re a goddess” he sighed as you moved up and down his shaft. Harvey’s hands gripped your ass while you rode him, nails digging into the soft flesh. You picked up the pace after becoming accustomed to his size and rolled your hips to hit the mark inside of you.

“Fuck you feel so good, Harv. I love you so much” you panted as you bounced. Your second orgasm was approaching and judging by the look on your husband’s face he was close too. “I’m so close, baby.” You gripped the headboard as Harvey started thrusting into you from below. His cock hit exactly the right spot, your pleasure overwhelming you. Harvey moaned deeply, holding your hips tightly as he thrusted up one last time. His cock twitched inside of you and you felt the sudden warmth of his orgasm coating your insides, your own pleasure bubble finally bursting in sync.

You dismounted gently and laid your head on his chest. “That was amazing” he murmured into your ear, wrapping his arms around you and pulling the sheets up. “I’m so lucky I married you.” You sighed contentedly and nuzzled closer. You basked in the afterglow of each other, looking forward to the next day of forever together.